Chuck vs His Laurels
by Irlandaise
Summary: The government has decided that emotions are a liability for the Intersect-- what does this mean for our favorite nerd? Tune in to find out!
1. Chapter 1

_This is almost the same as the version I posted before, just with some minor errors corrected. Chapter 2 is completely new, though._

****

He struggled, fighting for air, clawing desperately at the hand that closed vice-like on his throat. His killer watched him impassively, almost curiously, as though he had never before seen someone make _quite_ that sort of face before. He looked like a fish out of water, gasping helplessly for air that would not come, and his flailing was growing weaker and weaker. His killer's grip never slackened, confident that the others had been taken out and he could take his time on this last one; he seemed almost enthralled by the spectacle of death. Finally the struggle was over, and the killer let the body slump to the floor, dropping it as though it burned him. The dead man's eyes stared accusingly out from his mottled face, and the livid bruises circling his neck stood out in sharp contrast to the pallor of his skin. The killer, suddenly uncertain, turned away; numbly he registered the blonde woman standing in the doorway, tears coursing down her horror-stricken face.

"Chuck," she whispered, "what have you done?"

* * *

Chuck woke with a start, shivering and covered in sweat. He fumbled for the light on his nightstand, his hand shaking so badly he could barely turn the switch. The soft light of the lamp touched the familiar objects of his room, warm and peaceful; the clock read 3:13 am, and the apartment was perfectly quiet apart from his hoarse panting. Chuck rubbed his face with nerveless fingers, consciously taking deep calming breaths until his shivering eased off.

He had woken from nightmares every night for the past week, and he knew by now that he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. The first time, he had been so shocked by horror and self-loathing that he had had to stumble retching to the bathroom, unable to quell waves of fear and nausea. Fortunately, Morgan was a heavy sleeper; had Ellie still been here she would have doubtless woken, spurred on by the maternal instinct developed from years of parental neglect and abandonment. She was always the one to sit and soothe Chuck through childhood illnesses, and her care had not faded with time.

That first night, though, there was no one to hear, and no one to come soothe. He had spent hours slumped on the floor, letting the coolness of the tile and the bright florescent light of the vanity ground him and ease his terror. He had not reacted that badly again, and by now he knew how to calm the shakes, and that sleep was a lost cause. Not to say the nightmares were always the same- rather, they were all of a theme. Sometimes it played out just as it had in reality, with Sarah coming in and stopping him before he killed that man. Other times, the enemy operative was replaced by someone he knew and cared about; the worst had been Sarah, though sometimes it was a coworker from BuyMore or someone he knew from his spy work. Frequently it was like tonight, with the details changed in different and horrifying ways, as though his brain were inventing new ways to torment him. Always, he was coldly hurting and killing _someone_, and always, there was some locked-off part off his brain screaming that this was wrong, that he wasn't like this.

Chuck rolled from his bed and opened the window, letting the cool night air in. The moon was out, bathing the courtyard in her silver light. He stepped through the Morgan door out into the night, forcing himself to focus on the feel of the cool paving stones and the gentle breeze that played through the courtyard. He tried to drown out his mental turmoil with physical sensation, though guilt and anxiety sat in a tight knot in his chest. He settled into one of the beach chairs Morgan had left outside, letting the peaceful night wash over him.

Captain Awesome, out for his daily pre-dawn jog, found him dozing there a couple hours later. "Dude, Chuck, wake up. You keep sleeping like that and you'll give yourself back problems. Not awesome." Devon grinned indulgently at his groggy brother-in-law.

"Oh, hey Devon, yeah. Thanks for waking me up." Chuck looked around muzzily, still disoriented.

"What are you doing sleeping out here, guy? Doing a little sleep walking? Or," and here Devon's voice grew hushed, and he glanced furtively around the courtyard, "is it a stakeout?"

Chuck laughed reassuringly. "No, buddy, nothing like that. Must've been sleepwalking. Had some trouble sleeping."

Captain Awesome wrinkled his forehead in concern. "Brother, if you need something to help you sleep, I'm a doctor. Can't have you wandering around in, uh, your line of work."

"No, buddy, I'm fine. Just a little stressed out from all the, you know, Nerd Herding I've been doing lately."

"I got ya. Well, gotta go get that heart rate up. See you later, bro." Devon headed off at a quick jog. Chuck stretched sore muscles, and went inside to get ready for another long day of saving the world one computer at a time.

_________________

Later that day, after hours spent delegating tech calls and trying to get Jeff and Lester to do _some_ work, _any_ work, Chuck sloped off for his daily briefing at the Castle. Morgan spied him sneaking out, and gave him a very conspicuous wink and thumbs-up. Chuck shook his head in despair of Morgan's discretion, glad that all of the other BuyMorians were too oblivious to notice.

He got to the briefing room first, and made himself a pot of government-issue, substandard coffee. Even with the doze he had snuck in, he had only had about four hours of sleep; coupled with the sleep deprivation of the last week, he was feeling like something a bus ran over. He was beginning to dread the file flash-checking the General had assigned him, since exhaustion only worsened the headaches flashing caused. Because they were a man short without Casey and Shaw was still out of the country, he had been doing pretty much nothing _but_ going to briefings and skimming files for potential flashes.

Sarah came down the stairs, pausing at the landing to watch Chuck unobserved for a moment. He sat slumped at the briefing table, his head down on the counter and rubbing the back of his neck. He looked gray under his naturally olive complexion, and his hair was mussed as though he had been running his hands through it. She spared a brief moment of regret for his shortened hair. His old haircut, though prone to forming funny animal shapes, seemed more 'Chuck' to her. He looked like a spy now, and less like the lovable guy she had first met three years ago. He sighed then and raised his head to take a swig of coffee. As he did so he spotted her on the landing and gave her his customary (and involuntary) grin.

"Hey, want some of this coffee? I made a pot. It's almost not caustic sludge this time."

She smiled as she continued down the stairs. "Mm. Sounds appetizing, but I think I'll stick with Starbucks. I'm more of a latte kind of girl."

"Starbucks, on a government salary? Orange Orange must pay better than I thought."

"Frozen yogurt is a lucrative business."

"Ah, yes, that explains the utter lack of customers I'm always seeing in there. They just can't not stay away."

As Sarah drew closer to him, she could see the dark smudges under his eyes; his faced even seemed thinner that it ought to be. She frowned in concern. "Hey, are you feeling okay? You don't look so good."

Chuck shrugged it off. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a headache."

"Maybe you shouldn't try flashing today. The general's just been trying to get some use out of us while we wait for Shaw, I'm sure it can wait."

"Yeah, wouldn't want to damage the Intersect." When Sarah frowned at this, he went on placatingly, "Don't worry, I took something for it before I came down. It'll be gone in no time."

Sarah made a doubtful noise, but was forced to give up the issue when the briefing screen came on. General Beckman's grumpy face seemed more annoyed than usual. "Good afternoon agents." Her voice was clipped and terse. "There's not much to cover, so I'll be brief. Agent Shaw should be done with his mission in a few days, and will head straight back to Burbank. In the meantime, we have a development that may help Agent Carmichael's job performance."

"General?" Chuck straightened up in his seat.

"After the success you had accessing the Intersect while on Laudinol, we've decided to run you through a set of trials to see if would be a good solution to your... performance anxiety."

Chuck grimaced at the double entendre, and his stomach felt like he had swallowed a rock. "That no-fear drug did make it easier to flash, but--" he was cut off by Sarah.

"General, I don't know if this is a good solution. Wouldn't it be better to train Chuck to access the Intersect naturally? What if he was in a situation where he couldn't get to the drug, or it wore off at a bad time? He'd be in a much worse position than if he could flash on his own. And what about the side effects of long-term use? It might--" here the General interrupted.

"Yes, Agent Walker, we are aware of the potential problems. That is why we are going to run some trials with Chuck first. You need to remember that Chuck is in much worse danger now, with a completely unreliable Intersect, than he would be with a _potentially_ unreliable one."

Sarah subsided. "Yes, General."

"Agent Carmichael, we will need you available every afternoon for the next week or so for the drug trials. Since your assistant manager is aware of your covert activities, you shouldn't have any trouble getting the time off, yes?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. I'm sending you the files you need to review now." The screen cut to black.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks to Badshot for helping beta this chapter. Any mistakes remaining are my own. Constuctive criticism would be awesome here, guys._

_All standard disclaimers apply._

****

Sarah put out a hand to stop Chuck from leaving the conference table. "Chuck, can we talk for a minute?"

Chuck settled back into his seat. "Yeah, what about?" He gave her a little smile that did nothing to erase the fatigue on his face.

"I'm worried about this Laudinol drug. Beckman only sees the mission report. She wasn't there. I don't think this is good for you, cutting off your emotions."

"I know what you mean, Sarah. That day..." he looked down at the table and fiddled with his empty coffee cup. "It was so strange. It was like, I could suddenly see everything I needed to do, every obstacle, and work around it. Usually when I'm fighting, even when the flash is working, I'm afraid. Afraid of getting hurt, afraid of hurting someone. When I took the drug, it all went away; everything was clear and I could fight without holding myself back."

"Chuck, I know how badly you want to be a good spy, and I know that it must feel great to suddenly be able to do everything you need to do, but I don't think this is the way to do it."

"Feel great... it didn't feel great. While it was happening, it felt exhilarating. Like time slowed down, and every movement flowed into each other. I've never felt anything like it." Chuck had stopped fidgeting with his cup, and was staring fixedly at the table as he spoke. Sarah thought that he was seeing the fight again, remembering his 'exhilaration,' and it worried her that he liked the feeling. "Afterwards though... when the drug went away, all the feelings that I _should_ have had came back. Even while it was happening, I could feel some part of me that was feeling all the fear and everything, but it was cut off. It's like..." he fumbled for an analogy, for something everyday that could express what he had felt. "It's like, when you're buzzed, and you know that you're acting clumsy and goofy and drunk, but you can't control it? That's what it was like." Sarah shook her head, not completely understanding, but Chuck didn't see her confusion. "But the thing is, if I hadn't taken the pill, they would have taken Casey's fiancée, and they would have killed us both."

"Chuck, you don't know that. The backup team got there only a couple of minutes after the enemy agents, we might have been able to extract you both." Sarah laid one of her hands over his, trying to get him to look up at her.

"Maybe, Sarah, but maybe not. I don't think you could've. They were shooting at me, and I think the only thing that saved me was the Intersect." He finally looked up at her. "I'm sick of being the one to always put the team in danger. Besides, what I did wasn't any different than what you and Casey have to do all the time."

Sarah remembered how Casey had broken his old commander's neck that same day, and how similar the two men had looked as they held their enemies by the throat. She didn't say that what made Chuck's action so much worse was the emotionless face her had turned to her. At that moment he had seemed cold and remote and utterly unfamiliar, worlds away from the man who refused to even touch a gun.

"You're a better person than me or Casey." She overrode his protests, "It's true. Casey and I have lied and killed and hurt people...including you, because it was our job. But the thing is, we chose this job; you were dragged into this, and you've been forced to do things that are completely against your nature. I think of that sweet guy I met three years ago, and I feel like I've killed him. I convinced you to want to be a spy, even though I didn't realize that I was doing it. I'm sorry, Chuck." He shook his head mutely, and neither of them felt that there was anything they could say to convince the other how wrong they were.

After a moment, Sarah sighed. "Then I guess we're at an impasse."

"I'm afraid so. I can't compete with you physically, and you're no match for my brains."

Sarah frowned in confusion. "What?"

Chuck laughed in disbelief. "You've never-- really? Okay, Sarah Walker, we need to work on your movie education."

She smiled, glad to see some of his light-heartedness returning, and left to go re-open the Orange Orange. Chuck settled in for a grueling session of file-checking. It seemed as though there were more files every day, and Chuck wondered if it was the General's way of venting frustration on a vulnerable scapegoat. He fetched more coffee, and opened up the digital file she had sent over; he groaned in despair when he saw how long it was. He would be in here until dinner time, if he didn't die of a migraine first.

True to his prediction, that day's flash check took him three hours, and left him with a throbbing headache that turned his stomach and made him see flashing lights in his peripheral vision. He drove home slowly, partly because of the late rush-hour traffic, but mostly because his brain hurt too much to function over forty miles an hour. When he got home he found Morgan waiting for him in the living room, wired from too much grape soda and Xbox live.

Chuck flung his bag in a corner and collapsed next to his friend on the couch. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and tried not to let the smell of stale grape soda get to his already touchy stomach.

"Hey buddy, you're home late. Out doing cool black-ops stuff?" Morgan seemed particularly chipper today.

"Yeah, I rappelled out of a helicopter, rescued Obama from Libyan terrorists, then chilled with the first lady over some Christal. Same old, same old."

"Really?" Morgan's eyes had grown wide with wonder.

"No, buddy. It was nothing cool. Trust me. I just spent the last three hours reading files, and my head is killing me."

"Oh, hey sorry. You still going to Ellie's for dinner then?" Chuck sighed. He had forgotten that today was their weekly Bartowski family dinner; he normally looked forward to it, but today he just wanted to crash. It explained Morgan's perkiness though. He was a sucker for Ellie's home cooking-- or anything Ellie-related, actually.

"Yeah, she'd be upset if I skipped out on her."

"That's okay, buddy, I can fill in for you." And leave Ellie and Awesome to host Morgan on their own? No, then she'd be _really_ upset with him.

"No, don't worry about it. We can both head over in a minute." Chuck heaved himself off of the couch and went to change out of his rumpled Nerd Herder uniform. His bed beckoned temptingly, but he sighed and braced himself for another few hours of consciousness.

Ellie was, as always, ecstatic to see him, and barely resigned to see Morgan. Sometimes she acted like he lived on the other side of the country instead of the other side of the building. When he got to her living room he slumped down on her couch the same way he had slumped on his own. After a few minutes he felt a cool, soft hand on his forehead. He opened his eyes and was rewarded with his sister's warm hazel eyes and worried smile.

"Are you okay? Do you feel sick?"

"Just got a migraine. Think I was staring at computer screens too long today."

"Hmm, you don't usually get migraines. I hope you're not coming down with the flu." Ellie's doctor mode emerged, and Chuck hurried to cut her off at the pass.

"Hey, no sis. I feel fine apart from my head killing me. Well, a bit queasy, but I think that's from the headache."

"Definitely sounds like a migraine. Let me get you something." She hurried off to her medicine cabinet and returned a few minutes later with two pills and a glass of water. "Here, take these and drink the whole glass."

"What are they?" He peered down at two different and unfamiliar pills.

"Sumatriptan for your head and promethazine for your stomach. Just don't drink any alcohol for the rest of the night, or you will be completely out of it."

"Sounds rather attractive, actually." Chuck tossed back the pills and drank the water obediently. "Any side effects I should know about?"

"Drowsiness, maybe some dizziness. And stay out of direct sunlight, but you'd have to be taking more than that to give you a sunburn. Here, lay down on the couch for a while." She plumped some pillows and mothered him a bit before leaving him to relax. She even herded Morgan away, a testament to her concern.

Eventually his headache did start to ease, though he felt himself growing more and more drowsy. He sank into a light sleep, the kind where dreams seem always near the surface.

* * *

He knew he was dreaming, and felt as though he was skimming along the border of consciousness. If he listened, he could hear the soft murmur of his family's voices, but he could not free himself from the dream.

He was walking down a pleasant suburban street, one both familiar and typical of southern California. He didn't know why it seemed so familiar until he turned a corner and saw his childhood home shining in the warm afternoon sun. His feet carried him up the front steps, and through the open doorway. It was just as he remembered it, clean and comfortable and warm. It was quiet but for the muted ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the gentle sounds of birdsong and wind drifting in through the open windows of the living room. He stood in the entryway for a moment, listening.

Because it was so quiet he was able to hear the slight creak of the wooden floor, and the soft slither of bare feet. He looked up, and standing on the stair landing was his sister; she looked like she was eleven or so, her long brown hair and round face a promise of her future self. He heard Ellie's voice, the real one outside the dream, like an echo, and he realized that the dream Ellie was crying. Tears streamed down her face, which was bunched up in grief or fear. She was wearing a white summery dress, and he felt a pang at how young and helpless she looked. She jerked suddenly, her eyes wide with fear as she stared at something over Chuck's shoulder.

He whirled, and there behind him stood Bryce Larkin, dripping blood onto the floor and looking pale and sad. "Bryce." Chuck choked out hoarsely.

"Why did you kill him?" Bryce's lips were tinged with blue, and his voice was weak. "How could you? He was a good man, a better man."

"Who?" Chuck was transfixed by his dead friend's eyes, deep and black as they had not been in life.

"You know who." Suddenly Bryce's hand shot out and wrapped around Chuck's throat. His hold was like iron, and Chuck could feel the life being crushed out of him. He thrashed his legs, trying to gain purchase on the floor, scrabbling at the vice-like hold on his neck.

"Chuck!" He was startled from the dream by someone shaking him. "Chuck, wake up!" Ellie had him by the shoulder, and Morgan and Awesome stood behind her looking worried.

"What?" He shook his head, trying to clear it of the dream and the dizziness caused by the medicine.

"You were having a nightmare. Are you okay?" Ellie sat down by his feet, turning the full force of her concerned-sister power against him. "Do you need to talk about it?

"No, hey, I'm fine. It must just be the medicine you gave me. It gave me weird dreams."

"Are you sure?" She reached out a hand and felt his forehead again. He smiled at her reassuringly.

"Yeah, I was just having trouble waking up. My head feels a lot better, though, and I'm actually pretty hungry. Any dinner left?"

Ellie smiled, though she was clearly still worried. "Of course. What kind of a sister do you think I am?" Chuck let Awesome pull him to his feet, and resigned himself to letting Ellie mother him for the rest of the evening to make herself feel better. It was actually kind of nice, particularly since it distracted her from her annoyance with Morgan.

During the walk back home, however, he had to deal with Morgan's somewhat better informed concern. "Hey buddy, you okay? Gave me and Ellie quite a scare." Morgan's bearded face wrinkled in worry over his best friend. "You were thrashing around and had this horrified look on your face." Morgan did a not-very-flattering imitation.

"No, just a bad dream. That migraine stuff made me light-headed."

"Okay, if you say so. It's just, I know people get that PSTD stuff."

"You mean post traumatic stress disorder? PTSD, not PSTD."

"Yeah, dude, maybe you're shell-shocked!" Morgan looked unaccountably excited over this. Chuck chose to attribute it to his friend learning a new word, rather than Morgan being happy at Chuck possibly having a psychological disorder. "Like those guys who came back from Vietnam or whatever. I mean, getting shot at and fighting off bad guys can't be fun _all_ of the time."

"It's actually not fun _most_ of the time." When Morgan's face fell Chuck decided that now wasn't the time to shatter illusions. "It's just kind of stressful." He remembered the General's demand. "And actually, old buddy old pal, think you could give me the afternoon off for the next week or so? I can come in in the mornings, but the boss needs me for something for the rest of the day."

Morgan, delighted to come to Chuck's rescue in whatever form, instantly agreed. "Yes, totally. What are Assistant Manager best friends for? Take all the time you need." He gestured expansively. "What's more important than the mental health of our BuyMorians?"


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks to Badshot and Noctaval for their help with this, and to all my lovely reviewers. Let me know what you'd like to see in future chapters, and maybe I can work it in. This one's a lot longer than the earlier chapters, so enjoy._

_All standard disclaimers apply._

****

"God, sometimes I hate these BuyMorons." Morgan glumly watched Jeff pass out in the trash can behind the Nerd Herd desk. "Lester!" The weaselly half of Jeffster hurried across the sales floor. Though Casey's brainwashing had begun to fade, he was still vulnerable to Morgan's rarely-used 'commanding' voice.

"Yes, my assman?"

Morgan decided not to quibble with the phrase. "Why is Jeff sleeping in the trash?"

Lester leaned over the counter to look, and gave a knowing smile. "Ah, it's his midday Ketamine/Everclear pick me up. Should wear off in an hour. The man likes his horse tranquilizers." And with this sage pronouncement he wandered off to work on looking like he was working.

Morgan gave a depressed sigh. BuyMore was just no fun without his chief Nerd Herder around.

* * *

At the same moment that Jeff was giving himself liver failure, Chuck found himself in the Castle being strapped into complicated medical equipment by the technicians General Beckman had dispatched. They had set up a chair in front of a large flat screen in one of the training rooms, and Chuck joked back and forth with the techs about watching movies on the job. Sarah watched from an out-of-the-way corner, busy trying to disguise her unease. Chuck was anxious enough already without her adding to his stress, and nothing she could say would dissuade the General from her plan.

One of the techs, an older middle-aged woman with pretty red hair, smiled kindly at Chuck as she explained some of the equipment they were strapping him into. She thought he seemed like a nice boy; truth be told, he reminded her of her teenage son. So many of the agents she interacted with were cold and strictly professional, or suave almost to the point of absurdity; they didn't waste their time affecting personable mannerisms for medical staff. This boy seemed friendly and a little bit nervous; she didn't miss the worried glances his blonde handler gave him either.

"Now, we're going to apply some electrode sensors so we can get more precise data. Unfortunately, you're going to need to take your shirt off for this part."

Chuck had changed into scrubs earlier when they drew some of his blood; after he took off his shirt he was left in only the loose pajama-like scrub pants and his bare feet. He laughed in embarrassment. "A little chilly in here."

The tech gave him a smile. "Maybe we can turn the heat up a little for you." She shot an inquiring look at Sarah, who nodded and slipped out briefly to adjust the thermostat. The tech held up an electrode, which looked like a suction cup with a wire coming out of it. "I'm going to apply these with a light adhesive. They won't hurt, but they might get a bit itchy after a while. Try not to scratch, though, because you might dislodge them."

Her assistant began swabbing electrodes with glue and handing them to her. When she placed the first one Chuck flinched. "Ooh, cold, cold." He saw that they were waiting for him to stop moving, and he blushed and tried to laugh off the situation. "Ah, sorry. Not exactly stoic agent behavior, huh?"

The tech chuckled as she applied the rest of the electrodes. "You'd be surprised how the toughest-looking agents turn into wimps in the doctor's office. Trust me, I've seen worse." She finished studding his chest and back with the electrodes, and carefully placed one on each of his temples.

Sarah watched this silently, but it did not escape her notice that Chuck looked much different with his shirt off than he had when she first met him. Not to say that he had ever been chubby (he had always run to the long and lean, and Ellie had told her once that he was like a beanpole in high school), but he had hardened up. The physical training he practiced as an agent, coupled with the fierce exertion that the Intersect occasionally forced on him, had created muscles where none had been before. He was still lean rather than bulky, but he seemed much more solid now.

He also had scars and bruises where none had been before; even now he bore a few fading marks from their fight with Casey's old commander and his men. She knew that Chuck thought of himself as a somewhat wimpy nerd, but any objective observer would agree that he had nothing to be ashamed of in either looks or physique.

She realized with a start that she had been on the verge of ogling him, and looked guiltily around the room to make sure no one had noticed. She had forbidden herself weeks ago from looking at him in any kind of romantic way, and she was _not_ going to slip up now when he needed her.

The technicians finished fitting him up with straps around his chest and upper arm to measure breathing rate and blood pressure. The redhead stepped back, checking over her work. "Okay, we should be ready in a few minutes. Let me just check with my colleagues to see if all the testing equipment is ready." Chuck nodded, and the medicos left to consult with the computer techs.

Sarah went up to Chuck with a bracing smile on her face. "You alright?"

"Yeah. I feel a bit like a stereo system right now." He gestured at his wire-covered chest, careful not to dislodge anything. "Do you know what they're going to test me with?"

"From what they told me, they're going to run a bunch of baseline tests without the drug or anything, so they can see what your reactions are normally. Then they'll run them over again while you're on the Laudinol. They'll also check to make sure that the drug isn't putting any stress on your heart, or otherwise endangering you." She said this last bit rather fiercely, as though she were going to force them to check if they tried to slack off.

Chuck gave her one of his goofy grins, touched by her concern. "Hey, don't worry. This part shouldn't be too hard; I mean, it's got to be safer than being in a room with a bunch of armed bad guys trying to kill me." Sarah nodded, though she wasn't so sure. She knew that her government could destroy an agent just as thoroughly as the Ring could, if they thought it in the best interest of the country.

* * *

When the technicians returned they guided Sarah to the observation room next door so that she could watch without distracting Chuck. They explained that his emotional reactions to her might taint the testing. Only two techs stayed in the actual room with Chuck, and they were careful to stay back out of his range of vision. The room was set up so that the mirrored observation window ran parallel to the chair and screen, and they could see both Chuck's face and whatever images were to be projected. They had fit Chuck with high quality noise-canceling headphones, completing his wired ensemble.

"What are you going to show him?" Sarah asked one of the medicos.

He gestured to the screen in the other room. "We've collected a number of visuals with different emotional and personal meanings. Some are of people he knows, some are neutral images, some have very strong positive or negative connotations. We want to get an idea of his emotional triggers and see how strongly he reacts to different kinds of stimuli. Later on in the week there will be more physically active tests, but these give us a good basis for comparison." Sarah nodded, reassured by the apparently innocuous nature of the assessment.

One of the observers pressed the intercom button and announced that the test was about to begin. The screen began cycling through different images, each one staying on for a few seconds before being replaced by the next. At first Sarah watched the screen, but the pictures were just photographs of everyday things: a daisy, a car, a rock, a glass of water, a sandwich, a baby, a cockroach. She switched to watching Chuck instead. His face was placid, and a little bored, though he seemed to be careful to study each image in turn.

"Okay, now we're switching to more general images that have emotional connections," the tech murmured to her. She nodded and began watching both the screen and Chuck's reactions. The pictures changed to less neutral subjects: laughing families, a dead child lying in a street, soldiers marching, a wedding, an old man in a hospital bed. The images were clearly set at extremes of the emotional spectrum, though there were some she thought were intended to evoke amusement or loneliness, or other less primal feelings. Chuck looked a little less placid, but otherwise much the same as he had in the earlier section. After several minutes of the emotionally charged visuals, the screen switched back to neutral images for a while.

The tech leaned close again, "And now it'll be people he knows, and things of personal significance." Sarah watched more closely this time, trying to guess what the photos might mean to Chuck. Some were surveillance pictures of his coworkers at the BuyMore, some were of people he knew from the spy community. He gave little grins for the photos of Morgan and Ellie, and laughed outright at a picture of Jeff lying unconscious in a pool of cheeseballs on the couch in the BuyMore home theater room. She saw no noticeable reaction to the photos of Casey, General Beckman, and her friend Carina, though one of herself in her old Wienerlicious costume caused him to glance involuntarily towards the observation mirror. For some subjects she noticed multiple pictures; one of Ellie crying made Chuck's jaw tense up. There were also some buildings and other location shots-- one she thought might be from Stanford, another was an elementary school

There was one photo that made him straighten up in his seat and frown-- it was a faded Polaroid of a beautiful woman holding a child. She had rich brown hair that fell in gentle waves around her face, and warm brown eyes that matched those of the adorable little boy on her lap. They were both smiling up into the camera, and Sarah wondered at Chuck looking so grim over such a sweet picture. It was followed by a high school-era photograph of Morgan looking more hobbit-like than ever and sporting a Chewbacca tee shirt. Chuck grinned, and she wondered if he too noticed the strong resemblance between his best friend and the Wookiee on his chest.

The images finally ran out, Chuck was released for a bathroom and snack break, and the techs took the opportunity to look through some of the data they had gathered. Sarah lingered, peering over their shoulders to see what the results had been. It looked like a seismograph reading, with multi-colored jagged lines tracking across a graph. She noticed that the lines seemed smoother at the beginning and the middle, where she guessed the neutral images had been used. Near the end there was a very sharp section of peaks and valleys, and she wondered if that was when the brown-eyed woman had been shown. Deciding that she could learn nothing more from the observers' impenetrably technical discussion, she slipped out to track down Chuck.

* * *

He sat in the conference room wolfing down a sandwich, and she had to laugh at him. The medicos, loathe to reapply all the electrodes, had simply disconnected the wires and left the sensors themselves on their subject.

"You look like you have the high-tech chickenpox." She sat on the edge of the table grinning down at him.

He swallowed his bite of sandwich and made a face. "I just hope these things don't leave a mark, otherwise it'll look more like I was attacked by an octopus."

"So, how do you feel after the first round? Okay?"

"Yeah. It was kinda boring, but that's about it. Better than looking at all those files Beckman makes me check." He grinned, more at the promise of no flash-checks for the next week than at the thought of the test.

It was on the tip of Sarah's tongue to ask who that woman had been, but she decided to give him the chance to bring it up on his own. "Do you think you had a strong reaction to any of the pictures? I myself enjoyed the one of Morgan with his arm stuck in Big Mike's stuffed marlin."

"Yes, that was a favorite of mine as well. Poor Norman, he'll never be the same." He gave her a goofy conspiratory grin and his trademark eyebrow waggle, then sobered up. "I dunno, maybe some of the ones of my family, or of Bryce." Here he paused, as though he didn't want to continue. "Some of them didn't bring up very good memories. I don't know where they got some of those pictures. Actually, you know what, I don't think I want to know." He laughed off his grim moment, and carried on devouring his sandwich.

* * *

The second part of the test was identical to the first, different only in that they gave Chuck a low dose of Laudinol through an IV drip. They ran through the same images, though they were shuffled around. This time, Chuck's face remained impassive through the entire sequence, and what she thought of as his personal seismograph ran smooth from beginning to end. Sarah went in and watched quietly while they released Chuck from the medical equipment. He watched it all with an expressionless face, though he did manage a sort of detached curiosity as one of the technicians removed the electrodes from his body with rubbing alcohol.

When they were done with him he sat quietly in his seat observing the removal of the test equipment from the room. The technicians chattered among themselves as they had done when they first set up, but this time Chuck did not join in with their banter. Sarah watched him closely, trying to tell if she could see the Laudinol wearing off. She thought she knew the exact moment that he came back to himself because he hunched his shoulders in sudden tension and rubbed his face with his hands. Sarah brought him his shirt, and he pulled it on with a sigh. He looked really worn out, though he hadn't been very chipper to begin with.

"Want me to go get you some coffee? I heard a rumor that the techs brought their own. They must've heard how bad ours was."

Chuck forced a tired laugh at her weak joke. "Yeah, I could really use some caffeine. I better make sure it doesn't interfere with any of the tests first." He heaved himself to his feet and went over to ask one of the medicos about it. He came back with a wry grimace on his face. "They said it was okay, but I have to get some blood drawn first. I'll meet you in the conference room, okay?" Sarah nodded and left to hunt down some of the alleged coffee.

______________

Chuck found Sarah in her usual seat at the briefing table, two steaming cups of coffee and a plate of Danishes in front of her. "So, is it really any good?"

"Yes, actually. I even filched some pastries for you."

"Ooh, I love pastries." He snagged a cheese Danish and a cup and settled into a chair. "I better stay away from Big Mike for the rest of the day. That man can smell Danish at a thousand yards."

"I thought you might need some sugar after getting so much blood taken." Sarah examined his drawn face, worried anew at the strain and fatigue she saw there.

"Oh, it was only a couple of vials each time. I think I've lost more donating it at the blood bank." Sarah smiled; she couldn't imagine Bryce or Shaw taking the time to donate blood.

"Do you give blood a lot?" She had trouble picturing someone as terrified of needles as he was voluntarily donating blood.

"When your sister's a doctor, you better believe it. Mmm, this is really good." He licked a bit of filling off his finger. "I don't know why I'm so hungry, I was just sitting there the whole time."

"It's okay. Speaking of which, how do you think it went this time?" She was watching him closely, and so she caught the tightening around his mouth as he tried to hide his unhappiness.

"It wasn't too bad. A lot better than the first time I took the stuff anyway."

"I would hope so. Did you feel weird again, afterward?"

"Yeah, a bit. It's like the feelings that were held back just keep building up until the medicine's gone, and then they get released anyway." He made a face at his Danish. "That seems like a pretty big down side."

Just then one of the men from the observation room came in, clearly looking for Chuck. He was the one who had explained the experiment to Sarah, and he shook both their hands, apologizing for not introducing himself properly earlier. "I'm Dr. Michael Grey. I'll be coordinating the drug assessment this week, and I wanted to discuss some things with you." Chuck gestured to a chair, and they all settled back down around the table.

"Now Chuck, how much do you know about how Laudinol works?" Dr. Grey set aside his clipboard, steepled his fingers in front of him in a classic scholarly pose, and peered at Chuck.

He shrugged, "Not much. Just that it makes you unable to be afraid, and that they wanted to use it with soldiers."

"Well, that's true to a point. It actually creates a sort of barrier between the part of your brain that processes your emotions and the part that controls your conscious actions. Some of the chemicals in the drug interfere with the transmission of signals between those two parts. It doesn't actually erase the emotions, it just lets your brain ignore them for a while. In a way, it makes you a temporary sociopath. You can see why we've been reluctant to use it on soldiers up to now; we didn't really want a big group of well-armed sociopaths on our hands."

Sarah straightened in alarm, and she cut in quickly before the doctor could carry on further. "You want to make Chuck into a _sociopath_? That seems like--" Dr. Grey interrupted her.

"No, no, Agent Walker. You're alarming yourself for no reason. I know that the average layman associates the term 'sociopath' with psychotics and killers, but it's actually a very misunderstood condition. A sociopath is someone who, perhaps because of genetics or brain damage, cannot feel emotion. They can recognize that emotions and consciences exist, and they can understand that certain things are considered 'good' and others 'bad,' but they do not feel guilt or sorrow over those bad things. There are many sociopaths who go undetected because they become very good at mimicking normal reactions. What Laudinol does is create a very temporary state of this condition, allowing the subject to do what he needs to get done without being impeded by fear. Once the drug is out of the subject's system, they go back to being their normal selves. It is actually metabolized very quickly, so once the source is gone the sociopathy is gone as well." He smiled at her as though this made everything all right.

"But Chuck will still feel those suppressed emotions eventually, though?"

"Yes, but at a safer time and place than if he felt them like usual. The sudden emotional surge might be a bit overwhelming at first, but he should get used to that." Sarah didn't like that qualifying 'should,' and it could be seen clearly in her face.

"And what if he doesn't?"

"Then he will simply be taken off the drug, and he will be no worse off than he is now. As I understand it, this may be his best chance at reliably accessing the Intersect."

Chuck finally spoke, "And I _will_ be able to access it, right? As easily as I did last time?"

Dr. Grey nodded. "We will actually begin testing that next, but I see no reason why not. Human Intersects being in rather short supply, we have not had the chance to test Laudinol with one before. I am _very_ interested to see the results." Here he rubbed his hands together in anticipation, and Sarah frowned at the avid look in his eye. "I just have a few questions about how the Intersect functions, if you would be so kind."

"Shoot."

Grey pulled out his clip board and sat, pencil ready. "What is the most common trigger for a flash? Visual? Aural?"

"Usually visual, I guess. Like if I see a face or a word that triggers something in the Intersect. Sometimes if I hear something spoken, that triggers it."

"And how long do these flashes normally last?"

"Uh, it's hard for me to tell. A couple of seconds, maybe?" Chuck looked over at Sarah for confirmation, and she nodded. "Sometimes if there's a lot of information the flash is longer."

"Are there any side effects to flashing? Headaches, dizziness, that sort of thing?"

"It's kind of disorienting right after one, but no dizziness. If I flash too much I'll get a headache, or if I already have a headache it makes it worse."

"Hmm, I wonder what the cause of that is. Perhaps too much electrical activity in the brain? We may need to look into it..." The good doctor trailed off, staring speculatively at Chuck's head as though wishing he could see what was going on in there. "In any case, that should do for now. I may have more questions later on in the proceedings."

"Sure, okay." Chuck looked somewhat nonplussed; he wasn't comfortable with the sound of some of the future tests but didn't want to cause trouble.

Dr. Grey stood up purposefully. "Are you ready for our last session of the day?"

Chuck sighed and tossed his coffee cup at a nearby trashcan. "Might as well. Not like I can just say 'no'"

_______________

The testing area was set up with a small table, a chair, and a computer screen whose cables trailed out under the door and into the adjoining room. There was a small camera affixed to the top of the screen, apparently there to record the user's facial expressions. Chuck was relieved to hear that no electrodes were needed for this test, and he settled into the chair as soon as the techs left the room.

Dr. Grey, stationed once more in the observation station, pressed the intercom button, "Now Chuck, we're going to show you a series of images. I want you to tell me about any that you flash on, all right?"

"Sure thing, doc."

The doctor cut the intercom and directed Sarah's attention to a monitor showing Chuck's face at rather close range; he looked tired and pale. There was a small area in the corner of the screen that showed miniature versions of the images Chuck would be seeing.

"For this first round we're just going to keep track of what percentage of images he flashes on. The second round will be the same, but with him on Laudinol. We've randomly assigned potential triggers to each group equally, so if the drug has no effect at all he should flash with equal frequency in each round." Sarah nodded her understanding.

The first round was rather uneventful, and actually reminded Sarah of Chuck's daily file checking sessions. Each image stayed up long enough to give the Intersect a chance to trigger, and was paused whenever he flashed so that he would not miss the next one. The subjects were more varied than what was normally in his files, but it seemed to her that he flashed about as often as normal.

"He's showing a 7% response rate." said the tech who was recording the data.

"Good, then we have our baseline. Administer the Laudinol and we'll begin the second round." The tech left to hook up another IV drip, and Sarah could hear Chuck joking with him about his arms being mistaken for pincushions. It was weird to see his natural humor and affability fade from his face as the drug kicked in, as though his personality was being drained out of him; Sarah tried not to let her mind make analogies with vampires.

The intercom cut in again. "Are you ready to begin, Chuck?"

Chuck nodded and new images began cycling on the screen. This time, though, he seemed to be flashing more often. Sarah wondered if the Laudinol repressed his frustration with the Intersect, and if that alone helped lower Chuck's mental block. It did nothing to improve his pallor, though, and she realized that fatigue was not an emotion but a physical condition, and thus immune to the drug's effects. This round lasted longer than the first because they had to pause more often, and by the end of it Chuck had a permanent frown line between his brows, as though his head hurt.

"What was the improvement?" asked Dr. Grey.

"Around 20%, sir."

"That's a significant increase. Good, good." The doctor looked a bit abstracted, as though he had just thought of something. "Did you bring a backup set of trigger images?"

The tech nodded. "Yes sir, two different sets."

"I think I'd like to up the dose and see if there's an increase in his response rate."

Sarah stepped closer to the doctor. "Can't you give him a break? I think he's getting a headache."

The doctor leaned over and punched the intercom. "Chuck, can you still flash?" Chuck nodded. "Good, then we're going to do one more round for comparison."

"Dr. Grey, I don't think you should. He doesn't normally flash this much, he might over do it."

"Better we find his limits here in a controlled situation than out in the field, eh? He's surrounded by medical personnel, he'll be fine." Sarah didn't agree, but she knew that she had no authority over the situation unless there was some kind of immediate security risk. She shook her head, and resolved to watch Chuck like a hawk in case something went wrong.

"Increase his dose by fifty percent." The tech went off to fiddle with the IV, and when he returned the session began immediately. Sarah stared at the screen, watching for the telltale rolling of Chuck's eyes. She didn't have to wait long.

"Theresa Moreno, Chilean resistance fighter, alias: La Aguja. Associated with the anti-junta movement, accused of plotting to assassinate President Pinochet; missing and presumed dead in late 1976."

The screen flashed to a new image, and then another. "MQ-1 Predator drone, manufactured by General Atomics, unmanned aerial vehicle used extensively in the current wars. Vulnerable to video feed hacks." And so it continued, with Chuck flashing more often than not, even on mundane images. Sarah wondered idly if there were plans to upload the U.S. Patent office database into the next Intersect update, and then realized that Chuck would probably just flash on _everything_. She suspected that most, if not all, of the trigger images being used were either well known or obsolete; they were just looking for the flash, not for anything really sensitive.

She was wrong.

"Dr. Steven Bartowski, alias: Orion." Sarah jerked in surprise, though Chuck's face didn't even register recognition. "Former CIA asset, one of the original developers of the Intersect project. Father of the current human Intersect Charles Irving Bartowksi. Known hacker, possible cyber terrorist, considered extremely dangerous. Whereabouts unknown. Affiliations unknown." Sarah shot a sharp questioning look at Grey, but it bounced right off him. She refused to believe that the inclusion of Steve Bartowski's picture was a coincidence, and her concern over her government's methods deepened.

Fortunately there were only a few images left in the set, and none that were particularly alarming. Dr. Grey and his technician bent over the data readouts, anxiously scanning the results. "A 65% percent response rate! Wonderful." Dr. Grey was almost euphoric, a strange sight to behold in a man who looked like a cross between Freud and Lenin. He was even bouncing on his toes as he and the other man dissected the data. Sarah ruthlessly interrupted their jollity to ask if Chuck could go home now. The doctor waved a dismissive hand in Chuck's general direction, not even bothering to raise his eyes from his research.

Sarah ducked into the hall, repressing her snort of disgust until the door was closed between her and Grey. One of the medicos was just finishing removing the IV from Chuck's arm as she entered.

"Come on, Chuck. You go get changed and I'll drive you home." Sarah held the door open for him, beckoning him towards freedom.

"I can drive myself, Sarah. My car is in the lot." It was the first time she had heard him converse while on Laudinol; his emotionless recitation of the Intersect flashes notwithstanding. It was eerie because it sounded both like him and not like him at the same time. There was none of the cheerfulness or usual (Casey would say 'flamboyant') expressiveness in his speech; it was all calm and logical and detached.

"You say that now, but I bet you won't feel like driving once the drug wears off. Go change." Chuck nodded and went off to find his real clothes. By the time he had dressed and reunited with Sarah the drug had begun to wane, and his frown had grown darker.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, just a bad headache. Let's go." He was so terse that Sarah realized he must still be working the Laudinol out of his system.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks again to Badshot for beta-ing. Is there anything you guys would like to see more of? Longer chapters, more action?_

****

They emerged out into a beautifully warm spring evening. Sarah took a deep breath of the fresh air, glad to finally be out of the Castle. She unlocked her car and they both settled in for the drive. They only made it a few blocks before Chuck asked in a strained voice, "Sarah, can you pull over quick? I really don't want to throw up in your Porsche."

She stopped near the curb and Chuck flung open his door and tumbled out onto the grassy verge. He knelt hunched over, taking deep shuddery breaths and trying desperately not to lose his Danish all over the sidewalk. Sarah slipped up next to him and began rubbing his back in slow soothing circles, murmuring, "It's okay, you'll be okay." in a gentle voice. When he could straighten up without fear of immediately puking she handed him a bottle of water.

"Thanks." He opened the bottle with shaking hands, and gulped the water as though he were parched.

Sarah spoke quietly, trying to mask how upset it made her to see Chuck like this. "How bad is it?"

Chuck shook his head, and then winced in regret as his migraine throbbed harder. "It wasn't anything terrible, it just hit me really fast is all. And my head is killing me. I don't think I've ever flashed that much before. I feel like I've had the Library of Congress forcibly dragged through my skull."

Sarah growled in anger. "I shouldn't have let that quack put you through the last round of tests. He had already done the planned ones, the last bit was just him messing around with somebody else's brain like it's some kind of science experiment."

"My whole life is a science experiment." Chuck tried to lighten the mood. "It's fine, I'll be okay in a bit. I'm just kind of shaky right now. Can you grab my bag from your car for me? I seem to be having trouble walking just now."

Sarah fetched his backpack from out of the back seat, and watched him rummage around for something. He emerged with a triumphant "Ha!" and a pharmacy bottle.

"What're those?"

"Some anti-migraine stuff Ellie gave me the other day. I had a headache at her place, and the stuff she gave me worked so well I got her to write me a prescription." He shook out a pill and swallowed it with the last of the water. "Just stay away from her anti-nausea stuff, it'll wipe you out."

"I'll keep that in mind." She hesitated for a moment. "Have you been getting a lot of headaches lately?"

"Yeah, courtesy of General Beckman. The way the last week's gone, I thought I should be prepared." He rattled the pill bottle at her like a maraca. "Stuff makes me feel a little out of it, but it beats laying in a dark room with a pillow over my face."

"Have you told Beckman about the headaches? Maybe she'd cut down on your workload."

Chuck grimaced. "Yeah, because she cares so much. I don't want to get another lecture about the expense of the Intersect project and how she needs results to justify the costs."

"Maybe you could play the 'don't damage the Intersect' card."

"I've tried that before. She'll just tell me the Intersect could be transferred to a bunker if I'm having trouble coping." Chuck shuddered at the thought of being buried in some underground cell for the rest of his life.

Sarah knew how frightening the idea must be for him; for someone as attached to his family and friends as Chuck was, the possibility of being forever cut off would be like a death sentence. It would be a poor reward for all his suffering and sacrifices; not to mention the damage it would do to his sister to find herself abandoned by her family for a third time. No, she well could understand Chuck's reluctance to mention it to the General.

Chuck sighed and struggled to his feet. "I'm feeling a bit better. We should probably get going." He held out his hand and pulled Sarah up.

"Listen, why don't you let me buy you dinner? You deserve something fun after the day you've had." She smiled at him, trying to ignore the part of her brain that questioned the wisdom of inviting her-- she supposed 'ex' was the best term-- out to dinner.

"I don't really feel up to being out in a crowd right now." He said, apparently with genuine regret.

"How about we stop at In'n'Out and get something from the drive-thru? You won't even have to get out of the car."

"I don--" he was interrupted by a loud growl from his stomach, and blushed. "Okay, yeah. Sounds good. I think the only thing we have at the apartment right now is cheeseballs and grape soda, anyway."

"That's what happens when you let Morgan do the grocery shopping." She grinned at him, but as he turned away towards the car the smile slipped from her face, leaving only worry behind.

* * *

Half an hour later they were sitting with their burgers and fries at a little cafe table outside a darkened bookstore. The In'n'Out had been packed, so they had retreated to the far end of the strip mall it shared a parking lot with. It was a pleasant evening, and the muted hubbub from the burger joint provided an atmosphere of seclusion without isolation.

Sarah made a disgusted face as she watched Chuck load his fries with the restaurant's signature spread. "Ugh, how can you eat that?"

"What? It's good. Mystery sauce always makes everything taste better." He stuffed the offending food into his mouth and grinned at her.

"I'm pretty sure it's just mayo and Thousand Island dressing." She dipped her own fry into ketchup like a normal person.

"Shh. Don't ruin the magic. Besides, there're _much _worse things you can put on fries."

"Like what?" She was happy to see some of Chuck's normal goofiness resurfacing.

"There was this French-Canadian guy who lived on my floor freshman year who ate his with gravy and cheese curds. He called it poutine, and it was the most disgusting thing I've ever see somebody do to food, and I've seen Morgan eat three-month-old leftovers out of the back of the BuyMore fridge. Blech." He gave a pretend shudder of revulsion and shoved another handful of fries into his mouth.

"I guess I should be happy you stick to spread, then." They sat for a few minutes in companionable silence as they dug into their burgers. Sarah had missed this, missed being able to hang out and chat with Chuck about normal things. She couldn't help thinking that she never had moments like this with Shaw; he was too serious and too perfect at everything he did to ever let himself be like this. When she was with him, she felt compelled to be just as serious, just as professional; there was no room for greasy burgers and gross-out stories in his regimented life. Most of the agents she knew were too conscious of their image to ever show their true selves the way Chuck did. She knew he sometimes felt like an embarrassment when he let himself geek out in front of the wrong person, but she liked that about him.

Sometimes assets or other civilians who she had worked with in her capacity as an agent had remarked how it seemed that all female agents were gorgeous, and they assumed it was a job requirement. She knew though that that was deceptive. The agents she knew, male and female and herself included, put a lot of training and attention into their appearance. Anyone who worked out and dressed with the care they did would seem more attractive. Anyone who was as careful as they to always be smooth and suave and in control, to erase anything they believed unattractive from their public persona, would be able to seduce and deceive the way agents did. Sometimes she wondered if shallow control freaks were attracted to the job, or if it was an inevitable side effect of completely subsuming your true self. After watching the changes in Chuck, she was beginning to think it was the latter.

She could see the symptoms already. His new haircut, his increased attention to how he dressed, even his enjoyment in playing the Bond-like Charles Carmichael all pointed to it. The sad thing was that it was his contradictions that really made him attractive (at least to her), and Carmichael lacked those inconsistencies. The real Chuck could be a massively goofy nerd, blindingly brilliant, sweet and serious by turns, and the contrast between the different facets of his personality highlighted his good qualities all the more. Carmichael was a shallow version of that, substituting the goofiness and sweetness for suave charm. She couldn't help noticing, though, that Carmichael's seductions always seemed to go better when Chuck slipped and let his true self shine through. Sarah thought that maybe all women, no matter how much they professed to be attracted to cool charm, really just wanted somebody with flaws and vulnerabilities like themselves. Perfection made for a chilly mate.

She was startled from her reverie by the rattling slurp of Chuck's straw as he reached the bottom of his soda. He crumpled up the paper cup and threw it into a trashcan fifteen feet away with a smooth overhand toss.

"Wow. Nice shot." Her eyebrows climbed in surprise.

Chuck grinned self-consciously. "Yeah, sometimes the Intersect kicks in without me noticing it. That was only, like, ten percent Chuck right there. If I could count on it working like that all the time I might take Devon up on his basketball challenge."

"I don't know, wouldn't that kind of give it away if you suddenly started playing like a pro?"

Chuck sighed. "Yeah, good point. It would be nice if I could use the Intersect to do something useful in my normal life for once." He brightened up a bit. "Maybe we could just play one-on-one, though. He already knows about the spy thing, maybe he would just think I'd been faking my ineptitude."

"Chuck, you're not inept. And besides, there're more important things than being athletic and good at sports."

"I wish I'd had a girl say that to me back in high school. It's a messed up world that we live in when being able to throw a ball through a hoop is considered a better use of time than learning to write programs or acing calculus."

Sarah thought back to her own rather indifferent (and mediocre) schooling. "Well, I wish I had known someone brilliant like you back in school. You could've tutored me, and maybe I wouldn't have gotten all those C's in math."

"Ooh, sounds like a Brat Pack movie: the hopeless dork helps the gorgeous cheerleader, and both learn to overcome their prejudices. You would be played by Molly Ringwald and I'd be Anthony Michael Hall. Casey would be Emilio Estevez. Definitely."

"Mmm, you're more of a Robert Downey Jr., I think. And I was _not_ a cheerleader in high school. I actually wasn't even popular, because I had to move around so much. It's hard to make friends when your dad has to keep skipping town before the cops catch on to his latest con." She thought darkly of the nightmare her senior year had turned into after her father had failed to bail before he was made. Life was so much harder when everyone around you thought you were a liar and a thief; what made it worse was that they had been right.

Chuck knew how much Sarah disliked talking about her past, and he was surprised that she had been the one to bring up her father. He tried some careful sympathy, wary of triggering her emotional barriers. "That must've been really hard on you, always having to lie and leave people behind. At least I didn't have to move around at all. After my dad left, Ellie and I sold our family's house and moved into a little apartment near my school. It might've been cheaper to go somewhere else, but we couldn't stand to lose all our friends too."

"I'm surprised that social services let you live on your own. I thought they usually put kids in foster care or found a relative or something."

"We didn't have any other relatives, and Ellie was almost nineteen so she was legally an adult anyway. We kind of kept it a secret, too."

"Why?" Sarah scrounged for the remains of the ketchup with her last fry.

"Everybody already thought we were weird because our mom was gone and Dad was kind of a space cadet. Ellie had a lot of friends because, well, you know Ellie; but I was a major nerd. Also, we both hated all the pity we got after Mom left us. We didn't want to go through that again. We made a promise to always look after each other after she bailed. We told ourselves that we didn't need anyone else." Sarah mentally filled in what he left unsaid: they thought that they couldn't trust anyone else.

"I know that Morgan can be kind of a little troll sometimes, but he was the only other person besides Ellie to stick with me. He helped me deal with all the loneliness, especially when Ellie was off at her classes and stuff." Sarah reflected on the value of loyalty versus popularity, and realized that while Morgan might be a bearded gnome with no social skills, he had other, more valuable attributes that balanced out his awkwardness.

"Ready to go?" He stood up and went to throw their empty wrappers in the trash; Sarah followed him into the gentle night.


End file.
